“How about ‘Lemon’?” Zoha suggests petting the cat’s soft fur through the carrier slats. “His fur looks like the frosting on Iman phupo’s cake.” “Absolutely not,” I state. “If I hear the word ‘lemon’ again, I will veer us all off a cliff.” Alina slaps my arm. “What the hell?” she mouths. I shrug in defence. “Just saying.”
